


An Abyss of Our Making

by OuyangDan



Series: Till the World Stops Ending [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OuyangDan/pseuds/OuyangDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after A Queen's Regrets. Time does not heal all things, and sometimes the world ends before you're ready. Inquisition spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

9:41 - Highever

_Kahrin_

How long had it been since she'd seen snow? The soft flakes drifted down from the sky and rested in haphazard piles on the ground. This was not the relentless barrage of Southern Fereldan winters, but it was close enough to fill her with urgency. 

Eleven years had passed since her boots had crunched the dirt of the place of her birth. Eleven long years in exile, several of them in solitude. Now that she stood on the docks in Highever, cloak pulled around her, Kahrin wasn't sure she could call it  _home_  anymore.

The sun dipped into grey clouds, casting shades of pink and red, which reflected off the smattering of snow. Dark would be full soon, and she'd need to find a place to rest for the night. She still knew the area as well as she had as a girl, and she started immediately for the woods. Sure, the inn would have food, and she had coin, but as tempting as a warm bed was, the song in her head and searing in her veins told her to avoid crowds.

Plenty of pines hung with low branches. Beneath the boughs would be shelter from the weather and sight with enough space for a fire if she kept it small.

The blaring in her head screamed at every step; she was going the wrong way. She was being called north by her blood, but the remains of her mind insisted on this course. South. She had to reach Avernus, if he yet lived. There was one chance for her, for Lyssa, for all of them, and it lay with the old blood mage. Death was inevitable, she'd known this since she was very young, but that had never stopped her before. 

Crouching with a fir bough, she brushed away her tracks as the snow fell harder. She worked her way towards the trees, picking out a large one for her destination. 

Something tickled the back of her mind like a faint buzzing through a musical chorus. There was too much of everything. Too much sound, too much feeling. All of it tried to keep her from that faint mental itch. It pulled at her with familiarity, making her frown. She knew it, and clarity washed through her like a waterfall in a spring melt.

She'd been careful. Careful on her own, careful on the ship, careful every dock and port and town she made. She stayed off of paths, moved in the dark when she could—all things Anders had taught her during the past year. Before the Calling had begun to summon them both, and he'd gone nearly out of his mind with it.

If she felt them, they felt her. She backed against a large trunk, checking that her swords were clear in their scabbards. Her eyes watched the sky as the colors gave way to twilight, and waited for whoever was there to get closer. She'd stopped a Blight; a few stray Wardens would not take her now.


	2. Chapter 2

_Alistair_

Sneaking away was pretty easy. His father had done it more than once, if legend was to be believed. Sneaking away without seeming like you were sneaking away, that was another thing altogether. Turned out he was good at that. 

Keeping his mood light had been a challenge long before he'd left Denerim in the cover of dark. Leaving to possibly die did that, dampened the spirits. There had been many times in his younger days when he'd marched towards what he'd thought would be his death, bravely. Almost bravely. Nearly soiling his armour in fear but going forward all the same. That was brave to some people. It would have to do.

Death wasn't funny, and he didn't feel so brave now. Deep down he knew he was running scared with no clear idea of where to run to. He always thought he'd go to Orzammar. Of course he'd also once thought he wouldn't go alone, but that had been another life.

Now his head was filled with a tuneless song and a buzzing. His blood wanted to climb out of his skin and everything felt too hot and too cold all at once. It wasn't  _so_  bad. If he focused on it he could almost bury it. He could push it down and make it tolerable. He'd been in worse pain, both physical and mental. That was a lie, but a good lie that got him through the days. The nights were the hardest. Relentless dreams, never easing, never letting him rest. In the calm of the woods things were both easier and not. The smells of dirt and fir trees pleased his senses but the quiet made every sound in his head louder. 

He had two options. A king had to have options, and if he could make one work for him, maybe there was hope. Ferelden was still in chaos from the war. She had no clear heir, and a king who was dying, though no one knew. That no one knew was his only blessing, along with a quick wit that got him out of the palace without his guard. Maker, they were going to be pissed.

The first option was… not one he wanted. Eleven years ago they'd left Avernus in a tower. He hadn't wanted to, but back then he'd agreed to a lot of things he didn't want. The old arse was probably doing better than he was now. Down that road was likely blood magic and something really creepy. He'd seen enough of that for many lifetimes.

The other option was Weisshaupt. Much further away, and given his glorious history of evasion thanks to more things he didn't ask for, he wasn't likely to get much help there. Maybe quite the opposite.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, an agitated buzzing at the back of his head. He turned towards it, frowning at the familiarity. Something he hadn't felt in some time.

So slow he could feel the scrape of metal in his teeth, he drew his sword, though not his shield.

"I know you're there. It will take me moments to find you. Come out where I can see you." If he claimed  _by order of the king_ , would that help or hurt? He decided against it, instead moving in the direction he was urged to go. The screeching in his mind insisted it was the wrong way, but if he focused, he was drawn in like a beacon. 

He heard a soft crunch of dirt and forest floor before the slight, cloaked figure emerged from her hiding spot. She held twin swords, one in each hand, and looked at him with wide eyes, framed by a familiar tattoo. Apart from the chin-length bob of her dark hair, she looked exactly as he remembered her.

"You?.


	3. Chapter 3

9:41 - Highever

_Kahrin_

"You."

Her mouth wouldn't move. The years hadn't changed him, not really. There were a few lines which ran deeper, he wore his hair slightly longer and it was lighter in some places. The dark circles under his eyes told her without asking why he was here: whatever was happening to her, had been happening to Anders, was happening to him too.

He'd drawn his sword, but not his shield and she didn't lower hers.

"Been awhile," she managed.

"You don't talk to me." The sharp edge to his voice said that time did not heal all things. She hadn't expected any different. Actually, she hadn't expected much at all, certainly not running into him.

She nodded, complying. It was some time since the mornings they'd spar, and testing his mettle now was not something she desired. Her posture stayed defensive.

He knew it, too. "You don't want to fight me. Put the swords down." His eyes narrowed, the scar on his forehead creasing. He sighed. "What are you doing here?" He tugged at his ear when she raised her eyebrows. "You may answer."

"You know what I'm doing here," she said with a steady voice. It was the only thing steady about her. Every muscle twitched and told her to run, and maybe she should have but it was not in her to turn away from him.

More than a decade passed he'd exiled her. Long ago she’d accepted that she’d deserved it. She'd spend most of those days in Weisshaupt, training recruits and eventually overseeing administrative matters. She stayed a figurehead but not anyone people approached unless they had to. Though it was said she’d squandered an advantage for the Wardens by falling from her place as queen, the First Warden could not deny what having her around could do for them. Her eventual reassignment to the end of the Anderfels had been a sanctuary from gossip and celebrity alike. Then Anders had shown up, Elyssa in tow, and thrown her life into disarray for the second time. The following year had been chaotic at best, and fraught in the worst of it. All that time she thought she’d put the hurt of her circumstances out of her mind. Seeing Alistair now, she knew she was wrong.

Alistair sighed with a palpable heaviness. "Where are you going?"

She searched his eyes, hesitating. He wasn't going to like any part of the answer. Alistair held grudges; obviously the one he bore against her was still fresh and raw as far as ever. 

Ultimately there was little use in trying to dodge his question, so she didn’t. "Soldier's Peak."

Tendons in his neck stood out as his jaw clenched. "You know I can't allow that."

If time had cooled her temper, the taint burning her from the inside had re-ignited it. She felt her face pinch as she shook her head. "You have got to be kidding me, Alistair. It’s been ten years.” 

He winced when she said his name, physically and visibly winced. "I know it's been a few years, so you may not remember, but this is not my kidding face."

"We're dying. Our one shot at prolonging this is in that tower. Are you really going to turn me away?"

"Oh, let me see. I could let a treasonous exile back into my country so she can go in search of blood magic. Yes. I have been a fool. Of course you can go." He gestured past himself with an exaggerated bow and sweep of his hand.

Her weight shifted but she didn't step. "You wouldn't have a country if it wasn't for me."

“That is hardly your strongest argument, Kahrin.” He didn't lower his weapon. "Put your swords down."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" She lifted her chin, refusing to back down first.

Conflict was evident in his expression, but after a few deep breaths, he lowered his sword. "No. Of course not," he finally muttered. "I couldn't then, I can't now."

She nodded once, lifted both swords, then sheathed them with slow, exaggerated movement.

His shoulders slumped. "Come on."

"What?"

He rubbed a hand over his face with a groan. Maker, he looked old in the late light with the fatigue she could feel rolling off of him. 

"I can't let you wander free. I should turn you back around and put you on a ship right now. Or take you to Drakon.” He wasn’t going to do that and they both knew it. “Like it or not, if you find a cure, I need it too."

"So, we're at an accord?"

"This doesn't mean anything, Kahrin. You're still—" he stopped himself, then scrutinized her, looking for something. "Well. You know very well what you are."

"An adultress? Treasonous? An exile?""

He frowned, the corners of his mouth deepening. "Among other things." He tilted his head, and she returned it “Like exactly what I need right now. If anyone can find a cure, you can."

"I don't know about that," she said with a sudden quiet to her voice, "but I'm going to try."


	4. Chapter 4

9:41 - Coastlands

_Alistair_

Uncomfortable was not quite the word he'd use to describe their travel, but it sufficed. Kahrin didn't speak unless she was spoken too, which was a blessing for both of them. At first that seemed like an ideal arrangement, but after two days of her near-silence, it hung on them like a shroud. 

Nothing showed on her face. Her blank, thousand-yard stare was not only foreign, but unnerving. Despite all the things about her he remembered with vivid clarity, like the turn of her nose and the incongruity of her green-brown eyes, she no longer looked like the woman he'd once married. 

_That's because she's not_ , he thought with a bitterness that fouled his tongue. The woman he'd married wouldn't have done the things that Kahrin had done. She couldn't have. Because she'd loved him. The woman walking with him now had clearly never done that.

They'd found a small alcove in one of the foothills, enough for a shelter from the winter weather. The fire sat between them, shooting sparks spiraling into the air, and she stared into it. As if she could feel his eyes on her, she looked up, but said nothing. 

The singing finally grew too loud to be quiet. There was more bite in his words than he intended. "Where's your apostate? Or does he just go by terrorist now?"

Her eyes widened. The incredulity was easy to read and satisfaction warmed his stomach. "How did you—"

"It's called a spy network, Kahrin. I thought you knew that.”

"Mm." She looked into the fire again, despondent. "If you're looking to earn points with what's left of the Chantry after the Conclave, you're going to wait a long time. He's beyond your reach."

Something dark flitted across her face which he couldn't read. Good. He wanted her to hurt, he wanted her miserable. Or he thought he did. "I'm surprised you aren't a happy little fugitive family."

He could tell by her snort he'd hit a nerve. He'd expected to feel good about it; he didn't. 

"I'm not surprised he went looking for you. Figures you’d take off with him.”

Her face tightened. He could see the slow simmer start in her until it became a boil, one that bubbled near the surface and jiggled the lid until it spilled over. "Don't. You don't get to banish me from your life then criticize me for how I lived mine."

His temper burned at the edges of his senses. "You have no right to lecture me. You had an  _affair_. You ruined that life I threw you out of."

"No," she spat, her eyes darkening at him. "You destroyed it. I made a mistake and you decided the rest for all of us."

"What was I supposed to do?"

"Let me try to fix it!"

He flinched at the echo of her words off of the walls. Right. Like it was a thing she could put a bandage on and call healed. "You had a child with the apostate," he growled. “I’m pretty sure that was beyond repair.”

She shook her head and turned away from him, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arm around them. The urge to make her answer roiled around in him, tightening his chest. He could order her. Or shake her. None of that would work, and he knew it, even if he could bring himself to do it. She would defy him with every breath.

Either she was too angry, or her stomach was like his own, because she set her bowl down. She ran a hand through her short hair and refused to look at him.

It wasn't fair that seeing her upset weakened his spite. That had been the real reason he'd sent her away. Not because of her infidelity, not because of the child she'd tried to tell him was his. He wanted to hate her as much as he had wanted to punish her, and every time he looked at her he was tempted to forgive her.

"Where is she?" He'd been furious when he'd discovered Teagan had whisked the child away. At first he'd wanted to send a guard to hunt her down, and presumably the abomination. He would take everything that mattered away from Kahrin just like she’d done to him. Alfstanna had convinced him to let it go. He thought he had.

Kahrin glared at him. "Safe. And that is all you get to know."

The breath he inhaled whistled against his nostrils and his lips thinned. A snappy retort died on his tongue. Instead he simply muttered "Fine."

She stood, still avoiding looking at him. "I'm going to sleep."

"Fine," he said again before banking the fire.


	5. Chapter 5

9:41 - Coastlands

_Kahrin_

At Weisshaupt Kahrin sometimes went days at a time without speaking to anyone. Veterans gossiped, recruits stared slack-jawed and gape-mouthed. Very few of them dared to speak to the Hero turned disgraced queen. Some called her scary or cranky, and she supposed she was, but not without good reason. 

Not speaking to Alistair as they traveled was no great challenge.

He'd changed. Of course he had. This was probably her fault. She thought about the young man she’d met, awkward and unsure of himself though confident as a Warden, who'd been with her at the worst of her life. Scared and lonely, they'd both leaned on one another, even as they were eventually surrounded by people who had become their friends. No one else understood what they were facing quite the way one another did, even if those people fully knew the gravity of a Blight. None of them had woken up screaming from dreams of archdemons or felt the way that poisoned blood burned constantly. Even in the darkest hours of the Blight, before they were lovers, they'd been friends, joined by a common circumstance and purpose. 

They followed a small inlet of water until it veered too close to the edge of the forest near the highway. They'd been avoiding the road, and it didn't take her long to work out that he was putting as much effort into staying away. She knew why she was, but the reasons he had remained his own, and she didn't poke at him. When they had to follow it for a time, he kept them as close to the trees as possible, and seemed constantly distracted by any travelers. Being stealthy had never been her forte, and especially not theirs together, both of them opting to punch their way out of anything in their way. He seemed more adept at it now, making her wonder how many times he'd pulled this maneuver of sneaking out over the years. 

What sounded like a stampede of hooves started faint in the distance. Alistair caught it before she did, and she felt it long before she heard it still. Without a word he grabbed her, hand over her mouth, and bodily carried her off the path into a copse of trees. He dragged them both beneath a wayward pine while she kicked more than the situation necessitated. He tightened his hold and shook his head, shushing her with tight hisses. She struggled and finally pulled away, glaring daggers at him, but he only crossed his lips with a finger as the rattling of mail and scrapes of plate passed nearby. She ducked low to look under the boughs and needles. 

Once they'd passed, she shoved him, eyes hot. "Where does everyone thing you are?"

He sat back on his heels. She could tell he didn't want to answer, though he finally did. "That is none of your business."

She raised both hands, palms out. "Fine." She moved a branch to check again. "Your guards are gone. They are your guards, right?"

“Possibly.” He grumbled as they climbed out of their hiding spot, craning his neck to keep looking for scouts or stragglers. "The other Wardens left Ferelden. All of them, as far as I can tell."

That made no sense. Nathaniel wouldn't just take the whole order without at least giving Alistair a  _by your leave_. "But what does—"

"I don't know,” he cut her off. “But they didn't give any word, and there have been Inquisition soldiers crawling over every inch of the country."

"You could turn them away." 

He snorted. "Turn away the Inquisition. I am sure that would go over really well. I bet they'd just pull up stake and go home. They make me more than a little uncomfortable that—" He stopped and regarded her for a moment. "Not that this is any of your concern."

She opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. He was right, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was trampling on his toes. Just because he once needed her didn't mean he did anymore. It stung more than she'd expected, but she was also proud.

"They could be looking for you, you know. The Inquisition."

She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "I'm not worried about the Inquisition." She had her own problems, and when she'd felt her Calling begin to demand her attention, she'd sent someone to be her eyes and ears, and also her forewarning. The Inquisition would be foolish to turn away the aid of Grey Wardens, and she'd carefully found someone who was loyal to her, not a religious order or the Wardens. She needed to keep clear of them. It felt cold to be so selfish, but she'd put her swords through the head of an archdemon already. What could she do about a hole in the sky? Nothing. It was someone else's turn to save the world.

But missing Wardens complicated things, no matter how she wanted to distance herself.

"You should be," he said as he offered her a hand off the ground.

She refused and rolled to her feet. "Why?"

"You're the Hero of Ferelden. To some people that still means something."

She shrugged again. "But not to you."

"What I think doesn't matter." He shifted his pack on his shoulder and his shield on the other. "Did you know they've recruited the rebel mages?"

_Not all of them_ , she thought. There was a good deal of relief in that, though something did flicker through her mind. "Including the Grand Enchanter?"

"Yes. Though our meeting did not go well." He swallowed. "It was a complicated situation. I had to throw them out.”

She blinked. There was no way he knew. She opened her mouth, then closed it. That information was not going to help him right now, or her. When this was over, she would quietly send him his father's journal. Everything he needed to know was in there.

They changed course and started walking again. He shortened his stride so she could catch up. Cawing magpies filled the silence between them until she felt him watching her out of the sides of his eyes.

"I didn't tell anyone I was leaving," he said after a time.

She stopped walking. "What? But how?"

He gave her a look. "I'm thick, but not useless."

"I never said that. I've never thought that. Alistair you're king, you can't just run off to die and not tell anyone."

"Why not? My father did," he said dryly. "If you remember correctly, I ran off to try to live."

They fell into stride, buzzing outside their heads from insects even with the buzz inside. The very air around them felt heavy. Turned out they'd ended a civil war and a Blight only to see the world undone anyhow. She wasn't sure why they were fighting so damned hard to see it out.

“Who are you to judge me? You were queen once," he said, startling her from her silent contemplations. "You ran away from that."

She bristled. "We both know that isn't what happened." He glanced at her, and for a moment, the hard expression he'd worn since they'd run into one another softened. 

"Do you really believe it was a mistake?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Your affair. Was it a mistake? Knowing everything you know now, would you change things?"

She felt her face pull into a frown with a furrowed brow and tucked a short lock of hair behind her ear. There was no mistaking a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Her lips parted. Would she? There were things she regretted, deep in her heart, things she wished she could undo. If she could undo all the hurt she'd caused him, she would, but what he was asking was not simple. There were things she wouldn't have. The last year, while full of fear and upheaval, had been one she would not trade away, for anything.

"No," she said with a rawness in her throat. "I am so sorry that I hurt you, that I ruined what we had, but I  _love_  my daughter. I will never, ever regret her, or anything that lead to her being in the world." 

For a single heartbeat she saw pain in his eyes, and the next it was gone. An iciness she remembered too well replaced it.

"Right. Well, that's that, then."

"Alistair."

He sliced a hand through the air, no longer looking at her, and strode ahead, not waiting for her.

 


	6. Chapter 6

9:41 - Soldier's Peak

_Alistair_

Of course she wasn't sorry. Kahrin had the uncanny ability to say she was sorry and make you feel bad that she didn't mean it. She could make you feel guilty for being angry.

He remembered the day the child had been born. Every minute of the pregnancy had terrified him. Every day he prayed, literally, that she wouldn't die, that they'd both be safe as she brought who he thought had been his child into the world. A child he never thought could exist for two Wardens. He'd tried to keep his sight on the end of it all, when they would have a child. An heir. A family.

But the tiny girl she birthed that day, whom she cradled so close and cooed over so affectionately had not been his. That day he found out about her affair, the child's true parentage and the horrible thing the apostate—one he personally freed—had done since. 

To her credit, Kahrin didn't speak again until they made camp in the foothills.

"You know something?" she asked as she stoked the fire. 

"Oh, here we go. You know I've actually been waiting for this." There was going to be a fight. It could have been a decade ago, her building a ring of stones around their fire and he dreading what would come out of her mouth next.

"Yeah, here we go. There’s no forgiveness with you. Because you decide things like they're final. Like it's law." She stood and held both arms out at her sides. "Which is rather convenient, because now that actually happens."

"Whose idea was that, Kahrin?" It always came back to this. To her insistence to put him on the throne.

She rounded on him. "You said 'pick me'! I thought you were pretty damned clear."

He thrust his finger forward at her. This was just like her, conveniently twisting the truth. "You and me. You damned well know that's what I meant because that's what you agreed to!"

She ran both hands through her hair and pulled at the ends. "I tried. I did. I worked so hard to be a good queen and a good wife. I put your needs above my happiness."

"You tried so hard you fell on an apostate."

"I said I was sorry, but you didn't let me fix it."

"How? How were you going to fix it? Enlighten me."

"No one knew but us! Anders was gone, I thought maybe dead. We could have raised her as yours."

He laughed. The cold air filled his chest and ached but it felt good as he let it out, shakily. The words burst from him. "As mine? So you, what? First force me to father a child I don't want with someone I loathe, then to raise a child I didn't father? Are you listening to yourself?"

"Someone has to! You never did!"

He turn away and shook a hand at her. He paced back and forth before turning towards her again. "I was a good husband," he roared. "And you threw that away for what? To play house with a monster?"

She held up both hands and stepped back. He watched her turn her back to him and start setting up the rest of their camp with hard, abrupt, purposeful motions. 

The fight was over, but he didn't feel like he'd won. Maybe neither of them had. That thousand-yard stare returned and after she finished fussing with her bedroll, she sank to sitting on her heels. 

He felt sick. Why was he holding onto this? What good was it going to do after all these years?

"Maker. I'm an ass."

She nodded without a sound, fingers curled over her mouth. She shuddered as she let out a shaky breath. "I deserve it."

He sighed, seating himself on a partially rotted log. "Maybe. I thought so for a long time. Part of me still does. But it hurts to hate you, and it hurts to love you. Exhausts me. That's why I sent you away."

Her eyes found something on the other side of the fire, past him, to focus on. "I could have tried harder,” she said as she rested her face in both hands. For a moment he thought she was crying. "He's not a monster."

"I shouldn't have—"

"The things you're angry about don't make him a monster. They make me a monster. But he—" She took a cleansing breath. "We've all killed people, Alistair. You and I more than most, either intentionally or passively out of neglect."

"We were trying to save the world."

"And he was trying to change it." She was quiet again, but this time he definitely heard sniffling. "And now he's dying and I can't stop it. Just like you and me, but it's worse."

"Worse how?" How could it be worse? Maybe it was different for mages. 

She wiped her eyes, dashing tears, then wiping her nose on her cloak. The old urge welled up, the one where he would hug her to him and pull fingers through her hair until she didn't hurt anymore. But he'd given up that right when he'd had her escorted out of Ferelden and stripped her of all title and name. Maker that made his heart ache.

She swallowed and tried to keep her voice steady without success. "The spirit. Justice. He changes how it works, I think. They're not themselves anymore."

"They?" He didn't know what that meant. Did she mean he and the spirit? As if they were separate people? It made his head hurt and spin a little to try to make sense of it, so he didn't try. 

She hiccuped. "It's complicated. I'm sorry. You don't care about this."

He didn't. Or he didn't want to. He wanted to say he didn't. He dug for that cold anger he'd used as deftly as a shield back then. Instead he found something else.

He held out his arm in offer. "Not my first choice of conversation." He shrugged as she sighed and slid closer, reluctant, into his side, fighting her tears. "I know something about losing the love of your life."

"I—" She started then looked away. "I never said that."

"Maybe not with your words. Your actions kind of shouted it." He squeezed an arm around her shoulders.

"I don't know if he is. We haven't had enough time. We made a child, but that's not hard to do, as it turns out. Easier than sorting through a lot of complicated layers of mess while on the run." She looked up at him. "But I don't think so." She trailed off into her thoughts, mouth testing words before she spoke again. "It doesn't make it less to me. I just, I just need more time with him, for me. With them. So I can figure it out. And I don't have it."

He didn't want to care, but there were things people survived together that bonded them for life, it seemed. Maybe that bond was also why they just didn't work. Maybe it would always be messy and weird between them. Maybe they needed the world to end so they could function as a team. Their marriage had lacked that. Maker, what kind of ass wished for the world to end so he could have a little shred of happiness?

"We'll find it," he said toward the fire. "We will, and we'll get you that time."

"Maybe," she said with no hope coloring her words. "Maybe it's too late for them. Maybe it's too late for any of us."

"I don't believe that." He squeezed her one last time. "You're my indestructible goddess, and I think you can do anything you put your mind to." Except be happy while married to him. He pushed to standing. "I'll start dinner."

She laughed, the sound choked with tears. "I've been in exile, not denial. Get some wood. I'll cook."


	7. Chapter 7

9:41 - Soldier's Peak

_Kahrin_

Years passed since her last trip up the mountain trail to the old Grey Warden fortress. Not long after her coronation they made the short journey to see that Avernus was keeping to his promise, keeping his work ethical. Whatever that meant for what he did.

In the darker recesses of her mind, she wondered  _what if_  she'd let him keep going as he was? Hadn't she, herself, weighed cost versus gain again and again when the stakes were not only high, but towering over them all?

The path eased its grade as they neared their destination. They walked in silence, but now it felt companionable. Maybe it wasn't forgiveness, but it felt close enough to keep them amiable. In all likelihood it was all she would get, and she knew it was more than she deserved.

"Have you sent anyone to check on him or the Drydens?"

Alistair shook his head. "I left that to the Wardens." He looked at her from the sides of his eyes. "First, you. After you were gone, Howe." He still said the name with a face like he’d bitten a lemon. Alistair had never been fond of Nathaniel, and to his credit, he never pretended otherwise.

"Oh." The tops of the battlements slowly came into view and she focused on those, putting one foot in front of the other. "Have you spoken to Nathaniel?"

She knew the answer the moment his eyes met hers—Nathaniel was gone, like the rest of them. 

When she'd still been in the tower near Nordbotten, she and Nathaniel corresponded. There’d been a time as children they didn’t know where one ended and the other began, and that friendship had carried them through difficulties when he returned to Ferelden after the Blight, and later her exile. They kept their letters superficial, since there was no telling if they were being intercepted. Then, of course, after Anders and Lyssa had arrived at the tower, the three of them fled. No way to establish contact again existed without betraying their location. The possibility he thought her dead was very real. That he was dead himself had also crossed her mind, given current circumstances. That turned her stomach in a way she did not like.

The summit of the path ended with the gates, and they both stopped, no doubt noticing the same thing at the same time. How had she not noticed that smell? That horrifyingly familiar one that took her too far back in her memory. How had they neglected to notice the birds and insects stopped buzzing? The air was cloyed with a heavy stench of smoke, and no guard met them.

Swords already in hand they passed through with caution, one step at a time. The source of the smell was immediately obvious, twisting her stomach until she fought the urge to vomit. Inside the walls of the fortress the scattering of homes and stands and shops lay in ruins, most of them burned, some of them to the ground, many of them still aflame. There were no signs of survivors, and Kahrin let a squeak of misery, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

"What happened here?" she asked as tears tore at her eyes. "How is this even possible? These were not combatants. These were innocent people."

He didn't answer her, and crossed a finger over his lips. She knew better. Whoever had done this could still be there, holed up inside. They could split up, cover more ground quickly, but it would be risky since they had no idea what they were dealing with. Magic prickled the air, and she knew Alistair would sense it. He stepped close, protective in posture as they mounted the stairs.

Inside was no better. Every stick of furniture smashed, every drape and tapestry burned away. The further they ventured, the worse it grew until they reached the room which had once been filled with rips in the Veil and more demons than she cared to remember. The air pressed down upon them, a shroud of what was left of the tattered Veil.

As if conjured from her thoughts, Kahrin felt herself ripped from the floor and smashed into a wall, ice crawling over her skin and freezing her there. She fought it, kicking and twisting to get free, pulling for that coil of power of that always existed just within her grasp, one she hadn't reached for in a long time.

Alistair beat her to it, and no sooner was the demon in view—cloaked in tattered remains of a black hood and screeching with its rat-like teeth wide open—appeared than he clapped his hands together and struck it with light. It was enough to weaken the demon’s hold on her and she kicked out away from the wall, falling to her knees. 

Swords in hand, she lunged forward, barely missing it as it flew out of reach. It was fast. So was she, but not quite fast enough. She chased it uselessly as they tried to flank it between them. Using her teeth, Kahrin ripped her glove from her hand and gripped the blade of her sword, slicing just enough to bleed. Her pulse leapt to a gallop, her blood surged, and she had just enough of a boost to finally catch it, slamming a sword into what remained of its body, and slowing it enough for Alistair to strike it with his sword, channeling enough energy to cancel any magic it possessed. She tore it to the ground where it wriggled then stopped before exploding into dust and nothing.

She panted, shaking, and he wrapped an arm about her waist and helped pull her to her feet. "I hate it when you do that. It's creepy and gross."

"And it worked," she said with a tremble in her voice. 

Alistair pulled his tunic free from his trousers and cut a strip away. He bound her hand tightly with it, staving off the bleeding. "Still. It may as well be blood magic."

"Except I'm not a mage."

"No, but you got it from a blood mage."

"It hasn't killed me all these years." She looked around the room, not sure if she trusted the feeling that the demon had been the only one. Her eyes landed on a faded spot on the wall, an outline of soot showed where she was certain a large mirror had once stood. One she remembered Avernus telling her not to get too close to. That it was gone didn't bode well.

Slow fear iced her stomach as she spied the remains of what had been the door to the battlements. The one bridge leading to the tower. It had been smashed and splintered.

"Avernus," she whispered before meeting Alistair's eyes. Their one hope. 

She kicked in what was left of the door and slipped through it, leaving Alistair behind and racing up the steps.

"Kahrin, you don't know what's up there."

She barely heard him. Once Avernus' life had been in her hands, and to Alistair's great disapproval, she'd spared that life. She'd drank his experiment, given him her blood in hopes that one day his work would yield exactly what they needed to find. 

She bounded up the tower stairs, as many steps as her legs could reach at a time. Avernus' lab had never been what she would call clean, the nature of his work grizzly and macabre at best. Now she couldn't tell the fresh blood from the old blood. The buzzing in her mind that had been Alistair's presence pulled in every direction now, a cacophony ruled by the taint. Glass and wood and paper littered the floor, books were thrown about as if flipped through violently by too-rough fingers.

Avernus was nowhere to be found.

What she did find was a body on the floor, in livery she knew too well.


	8. Chapter 8

9:41 - Soldier's Peak

_Alistair_

Right. So even when he'd been here before this place had been creepy. It had demons prowling everywhere, ghosts popping up neat little flashbacks, and had a reanimated corpse running the place with a rather militant touch. It was nothing like now. 

So of course Kahrin ran up the stairs without thinking. She never guarded her flank and she never waited once she decided to act. Alistair thought she'd have learned better during her years at Weisshaupt, but maybe she'd been too cranky for anyone to dare bring it up. Who was going to correct the Hero of Ferelden? He never did. Well, he did, but it never went well.

There was no sign indicating the weird old bastard was still there. Enough of the room was singed, stained, or still burning that anyone could see there had been a magical fight, even if he couldn't feel it. The air hung so heavy with the remnants of magic he needed a cheese knife.

"Looks like he's spruced the place up," he said low and quiet. He wished he hadn't when he saw Kahrin crouch over a corpse on the floor, his throat laid open. 

"There was no struggle here, Alistair. No sign that he fought off whoever did this. His weapons aren't even drawn."

"Maybe they were really sneaky?"

"That's not funny." Apparently that hadn't changed either. She lifted her head and looked around. 

His eyes followed hers. "You think there's more of them?"

"Maybe." Her eyes met his. "We could have another blood mage. What if this was a sacrifice?"

"People do that?"

She tilted her head to the side, lifting an eyebrow and pursing her lips. "Don't be naive. It isn't as cute on you as it used to be."

Before he could deliver the witty remark on his tongue, something scraped. Metal on stone, he was sure of it. He stiffened, looking for a source; Kahrin rolled to her feet and dashed in the direction it had come from. 

"Wait," he hissed after her. He lunged, feet barely keeping up, and followed.

The space between the bookcases was enough for her to slip through but not him. 

"Alistair, get in here."

He might have laughed if it was funny. He pushed his shoulder against the shelf, leaning all of his weight until it shifted. Without the wide pauldrons of heavy plate he was able to squeeze in.

The slim woman's head was in Kahrin's lap. Even in the dim light he could tell she was pallid and barely breathing. Her Warden's uniform was stained.

"What are you doing here, Ralen?" 

Alistair knelt beside them, removing his gloves. He pressed against her stomach with a gentle touch. There was no give. He wasn't a healer of any kind, but he knew the feeling of internal bleeding. He lifted an eyebrow at Kahrin.

"I knew her when she was a recruit at Weisshaupt," she murmured. 

Ralen coughed. "I didn't know what they wanted me to do. Oh Maker I didn't know. I swear." She struggled to swallow and Kahrin shushed her softly.

"Who? It's okay, we're going to help you." Kahrin stroked the woman's hair. 

Alistair didn't say it, but he didn't thing there was anything they could do beyond holding her hand right now. Death was chasing them, but it had found her.

The woman's breathing labored. "Our Calling. It's all of us." Alistair blinked at Kahrin. That was… not good news. "They called everyone to Orlais, except a few details to find stragglers. We came for Avernus, to ask his help."

"Because of his experiments?" Kahrin asked. 

Ralen shook her head, trembling and looking at Kahrin. "No. Because of what he did before. Another group was sent after you."

"What happened here?" Alistair asked. None of that explained the village, the keep, or any of it. "I have a feeling I'm not going to like the answer."

"There's magistesr. One in Orlais. One came with us. They said they know how we can stop all the Blights before we all die." She coughed again, her breath wheezing inward. "All of them."

Kahrin looked horrified. "So they're going to what? Dig up all the old gods?"

"I thought so," she said, straining. "But not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Alistair frowned. 'Not exactly' left a lot of room for other exactlys. 

"Demons. They wanted us to use blood magic to bond them to us." She made a choked sound as she started to panic. "I've never done blood magic before. Ever. I swear."

Kahrin made a soothing sound that was so maternal it twisted Alistair's gut. "I know."

"They wanted me to use Corbin's blood but I didn't want to. Avernus wouldn't help us, and they attacked me and did it anyway. He didn't even stop them. There was a fight and I pulled myself in here. I don't know what happened." She shook, hard trembles wracking her. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. "I'm sorry."

"Don't. Don't apologize," Kahrin said, brushing hair from her forehead. "You did what you could, and your information is valuable."

"The magister who was here, with us. He said something about an—an elder one. Do you know who that is?"

Alistair shook his head 'no', but he heard Kahrin suck in a breath over her teeth.

"I thought he was dead."

Ralen began to tremble, small intakes of sharp breath making high sounds as she struggled to hold on. "Don't leave me alone. Please. Please I don't want to die alone."

"We won't," Alistair told her in a quiet rumble. He took her other hand and they waited until she was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

9:41 - Highever

_Kahrin_

There wasn’t much to do or say after that. The entire keep, along with their hopes, had been dashed away as easily as a chair or book. They sifted through the remains of Avernus’ lab looking for any clue to his whereabouts, but found none. Kahrin found some notes, tucked into a corner of one of the bookcases that looked promising, but most of the writing was gobbledygook as far as she could tell. It would take another mage to make sense of it, or to explain it to her in a way she could understand. Fortunately she knew where to find one.

Half a day's walk from the foot of the mountain pass they'd had to hide again. The pines were laden with snow, making their choice under the low boughs all the better.

"You know they aren't going to give up until they find you." She portioned tea into small cups and handed him one.  

"Yeah. They're well-trained." One hand tugged at his ear as the other took the cup.

"Alistair," she started, turning her eyes up towards him. "You can go back. I can do this. It should be me.”

"No. No way. Even if it were safe for me to be around others until this is over, I can't turn my back and pretend it isn’t happening.”

She'd spent too much of her life fighting him, pushing him to do things he didn't want to do. This time, she nodded. "It's your choice."

He smiled with obvious fondness. "Alfstanna can handle it. She's been better at it than I have for awhile now."

"I'm sure you've done fine." After she bullied him into it and then betrayed him. "You have no heirs, though." She flinched, sorry she'd said it.

He frowned and she braced for another fight. Though, that hadn't happened in a few days. “Alfstanna will hold things for now. Fergus, actually, if she decides not to. It'll probably be Fergus. Or his daughter after."

She nodded, saying nothing. 

"Is it strange? Being here and not seeing them?" He blew air across his cup before taking a sip.

"It hasn't been home in a long time." She stared past him, into the branches making their shelter behind him. "So I guess not."

"Where are you going now?"

"I have a contact inside the Inquisition." He raised an eyebrow. "It's called a spy network, Alistair." He laughed as she continued. "I'll get in touch, find out what I can, and keep clear. I'll keep looking for Avernus.” Her eyes met his again. "Or I could go with you. Finally meet the Champion of Kirkwall. Whatever is going on, happening with the other Wardens, I can help.”

He made a low chuckle. "I think it's best if we split up from here. I'll pay your passage, but go on my own way after."

"I understand." She took a long drink, letting the warmth seep into her. They also could do more faster if they each tackled something different. Also, handily, Alistair wasn’t wanted for desertion.

"I don't think you do." He sighed. "I've missed you. This."

"You mean the world ending around us?"

He laughed. "Sort of. I mean being together. Such as it is.”

"I knew what you meant." She smiled, tight and sad. She did know. It hurt to be around one another, even if they’d made amends after a fashion. “We're only good when we're all each other has, and that isn’t true anymore.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing into her hair and letting the strands fall until they hit her chin. "It was my fault, too."

She swallowed. "We were young. We had too much life between us to let go.”

He stayed quiet after that, and she began to move. She opened her bedroll and sat on it to work her boots off. She stopped when he cleared his throat.

"I want you to know that I forgive you."

That was unexpected. Stunned, it was some time before she knew what to say, and even then the words stumbled out. "You don't have to—"

"I mean it. If we die, I want you to know that."

“We’re not going to die.” She knew that wasn't true.  _We’re dying right now_ , she thought. They had been for a long time. Much softer than she intended, she said, “I forgive you, too."

She set her boots aside and moved to lie down, but changed her mind, instead pulling her legs in tailor-style to face him. Once they left in the morning, it was very possible she'd never see him again. It was very possible this going of separate ways would end in their Callings, and she didn’t want to waste the time they had. They’d wasted enough of it already. "It's always been you. I'm just not sure that always meant what we wanted it to."

He met her eyes, his smile easing, making her feel as if it were long ago, when nothing made sense, and yet, a few things did. "I think you're right." He took a breath. "It'll always be you."

She smiled though she shifted, suddenly unable to sit still. She couldn't think of anything to say as he leaned over and laid his lips at the crown of her head, then bumped his forehead against hers. 

“When this is all over, we’ll work on the rest. I’d like us to be friends.”

She patted his face, then scooted back. “I’d like that, too. Better late than never.” With that, she wiggled down in her bedroll as he moved to his and did the same. She stretched out, closing her eyes, and sighed with a shaky breath. There was no need to tell him how much those words meant to her, and she knew she didn’t have to. There was too little time, and she tried to think of something to say, to break the silence, to keep time in the moment and not have to let it pass. To keep morning from coming when they both had to go, for the better.

"Kahrin."

She opened her eyes again, letting them adjust. His head was propped on a fist, face drawn in consternation. 

"Hm?"

"Go back to him. Them. Whatever. If you don't find Avernus soon, don't spend all the time you have left without them. Find your mage and go back to your daughter while you can."

Tears stung her eyes, making him waver in her vision as she smiled. "I promise. But don't you dare get yourself killed. When I find a cure, we're going to find you."

“You’d better. An by the Maker, watch your flanks."

“ _You_  don't be a hero."

"You're one to talk." He sighed and pulled his bedroll up, and that silence fell again, swelling with an unspoken sadness. He murmured, the words slow and halting as if he would make them last. “Get some sleep. We’re going to leave before sun up.” 

“I will if you stop yapping at me.” She laughed with a soft awkwardness. 

“Good night, Kahrin."

"Good night, Alistair."


	10. Chapter 10

9:41 - Somewhere in the Anderfels

_My friend and patron,_

_You asked me to give you a full report of the events which took place at Adamant Fortress._

_It was every bit the fucking shitstorm you might have heard it was. The Wardens of old would rise up from their graves to hear of the actions of your brothers and sisters. That said, the magister was defeated, though the archdemon lives, such as it is. There were massive casualties on both sides, and in the end, the Wardens surrendered to the Inquisition. Those who remain have chosen to follow the Inquisition, and I have to say I respect that. I, of course, will follow until such a time as you need me. So far my cover is still good, and I strive to live up to it and be worthy of the title you’ve given me._

_Have you ever been inside the Fade? I don't recommend it. Everyone here is shitting themselves with excitement, but if you ask me it's overrated. That was one place I was glad to put behind me._

_Which leads me to my bad news. I regret to inform you that your friend did not survive. His noble actions enabled us to escape the Fade, but it cost him his life. He acquitted himself with valor, as I would have expected of any Grey Warden in his position. Would that I could have taken his place. May his memory live on as he rests at the Maker's side. I am sorry for your loss._

_Before we left him, he gave me a message for you. He said, and I quote, “Tell her I was wrong. Tell her it didn’t stop when the world did." I trust you know what that means._

_I await your next correspondence that I might further atone for my wrongdoings. I will add the lad's death to that list, and hope to someday make it up to you._

_Your humble servant,_

_T. R._


End file.
